by Amanda Quick
“I agree with you.” Emeline stood aside to allow him to stow Apollo in the carriage. “It is also clear to me that the hieroglyphs are the key. Until someone can properly translate them, we shall never grasp the significance of the pictures.”
Anthony leaned into the vehicle to adjust the statue on the floor. “A proper understanding of the Rosetta stone is our only hope.” His voice was slightly muffled by the interior of the cab. “I hear Mr. Young is making some progress in that regard.”
Lavinia studied the pair for a moment as they continued to exchange views on Egyptian antiquities. Her brows formed a thoughtful line above her fine nose.
“Hmm,” she said.
“I can vouch for Anthony’s character,” Tobias said in a low voice. “I assure you, your niece is safe in his company.”
She cleared her throat. “I don’t suppose there is any chance of an inheritance in that direction? The odd estate tucked away in Yorkshire, perhaps?”
“Not so much as a small cottage in Dorset,” Tobias said, grimly cheerful. “Anthony’s finances are in a similar state to my own.”
“And that state would be?” she asked with great delicacy.
“Precarious. Like you, madam, I must depend upon attracting clients for my services in order to secure my living. Anthony assists me on occasion.”
“I see.”
“Now then,” Tobias said, “shall we proceed with the business at hand, or do you intend to stand here in the middle of the street quizzing me on my finances for the remainder of the afternoon?”
She did not take her eyes off Emeline, who was still carrying on a lively discussion with Anthony. For a few seconds he thought she had not heard the question. Then she seemed to shake off whatever thoughts had distracted her. When she turned back to him, the familiar light of steely determination blazed anew in her eyes.
“I do not wish to waste another moment on your finances, sir. They are none of my concern. I have my own to worry about.”
“A very nice Apollo, Mrs. Lake.” Edmund Tredlow patted a bulging stone muscle in a well-sculpted thigh. “Very nice indeed. I should be able to get you as much as I managed to obtain for the Venus you brought in last month.”
“This Apollo is worth considerably more than the Venus, Mr. Tredlow.” Lavinia circled the nude statue and came to a halt on the opposite side. “We are both aware of that fact. It is quite genuine and in excellent condition.”
Tredlow bobbed his head several times. Behind the lenses of his spectacles, a crafty gleam burned brightly in his eyes. Lavinia knew that he was enjoying himself immensely. She could not say the same for herself. Too much depended on this bargain.
Tredlow was a hunched, perennially rumpled little man of indeterminate years who favored old-fashioned breeches and unstarched neckcloths. He looked as old and dusty as the statuary in his shop. Gray hair sprouted wildly from his balding pate. His whiskers bristled like untrimmed hedges.
“Please do not mistake me, my dear.” Tredlow stroked Apollo’s buttocks. “The condition of the statue is, indeed, very fine. It is just that there is very little call for Apollos these days. It won’t be easy to interest a collector. I may be stuck with the thing for some months before I can sell it.”
Lavinia gritted her teeth behind a cool smile. It was all very well for Tredlow to savor the bargaining process. For him it was a game as well as a matter of business. For her, on the other hand, the tense dance in which they engaged every time she came to his shop was always underlined with a desperation she knew she had to conceal at all costs.
Tobias watched the negotiations from the far side of the dusty shop. He stood leaning negligently against a marble pedestal, to all intents and purposes quite bored. But she knew he was listening to every word of the exchange with acute interest. It was infuriating. After all, it was largely his fault that she was obliged to come here and bargain like a fishwife with Tredlow.
“I certainly would not want to take advantage of your kindness and generosity,” Lavinia said smoothly. “If you really feel you will not be able to lure a buyer who can appreciate the excellence of this statue, I suppose I shall have to take it elsewhere.”
“I never said I could not sell it, my dear, only that it might take a considerable length of time.” Tredlow paused a beat. “Of course, if you wish to leave it with me on consignment . . .”
“No, my intention is to sell it today.” She made a show of adjusting her gloves, as if preparing to leave. “I really cannot afford to waste any more time here. I shall be off to Prendergast’s establishment. Perhaps he caters to a more discerning clientele.”
Tredlow flapped a hand. “No need to do that, my dear. As I said, the market is not good for Apollos just now, but for the sake of our long-standing acquaintance, I shall attempt to find a collector who will accept this one.”
“Really, sir, I would not want to put you to any trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” He gave her his gnomelike smile. “You and I have done a good deal of business together during the past three months. I am prepared to take a smaller profit than usual on your Apollo as a favor to you, my dear.”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to reduce your profit.” She made to retie her bonnet strings. “Indeed, I would never forgive myself if I thought for one moment that I had used our long and mutually agreeable association to take advantage of your kind nature, Mr. Tredlow.”
Tredlow eyed the well-endowed Apollo with a thoughtful expression. “Now that I think upon it, I believe I know a gentleman who will pay a goodly sum for this statue. He is not inclined to fret overmuch about price.”
She concealed her sigh of relief and gave him a brilliant smile. “I was sure you would know just the right collector, sir. You are nothing if not expert in this field.”
“I have had some experience,” Tredlow said modestly. “Now, then, as to price, my dear.”
It did not take long to arrive at a suitable figure.
Tobias took Lavinia’s arm as they left the shop a short time later. “Nicely done,” he said.
“The amount Tredlow gave me for the Apollo should cover the cost of the new gowns I ordered from Madame Francesca.”
“You bargained well.”
“I learned a few things about the fine art of negotiating during the time I spent in Italy.” She did not trouble to conceal her satisfaction.
“They do say that travel is broadening.”
She smiled coolly. “Fortunately, Emeline and I were able to salvage some of our best items the night you ransacked our shop and threw us out into the street. But I still regret having to leave behind that lovely urn.”
“Personally, I thought you made a very wise decision when you decided to take the Apollo instead.”
The resurrectionists toiled over the open grave at midnight. A dimly glowing lantern lit the macabre scene, revealing the shovels and ropes that had been employed to haul the new coffin out of the ground. A cart waited in the shadows.
“Another stolen body on its way to a medical school in Scotland,” Tobias said cheerfully. “How reassuring it is to know that the march of modern science cannot be thwarted.”
Lavinia shuddered and took a closer look at the figures arranged in the tableau. In terms of quality, the waxwork statues here in Huggett’s Museum were typical of those she and Tobias had viewed in the two other establishments they had visited this afternoon. The artists had relied on scarves, hats, and flowing cloaks to conceal the poor modeling of the features. The horrid effect had been achieved largely through the aid of a realistic-looking coffin and eerie lighting.
“I must say, the exhibits here are a good deal more melodramatic than the others,” Lavinia said.
She realized she had spoken in a whisper, but she was not sure why. She and Tobias were the only people in the museum. But something about the thick gloom and the grisly tableaux disturbed her in a way that the exhibits in the previous establishments had not.
“Huggett is obviously possessed of
a flair for the theatrical,” Tobias said. He walked down the shadowy aisle and came to a halt in front of the next illuminated tableau. It depicted a dueling scene. “And he appears to have a taste for blood.”
“Speaking of Mr. Huggett, he is certainly taking his time, is he not? The ticket seller went to fetch him from his office several minutes ago.”
“We will give him a few more minutes.” Tobias walked off into another row of waxwork exhibits.
Finding herself alone, Lavinia hurried after him. She spared only a brief glance for the scene of a condemned murderer on the gallows before she rounded the corner and nearly collided with Tobias’s solid frame.
She stared at the death scene that had caught his attention. It featured a man collapsed in a chair next to a card table. The figure’s head had fallen forward in a manner that not only conveyed a disturbingly accurate imitation of death but also conveniently disguised the lack of artistry in the features. One of the statue’s arms was flung out to the side. The figure of the killer stood at the edge of the scene, pistol gripped in a wax hand. Several playing cards were scattered across the carpet.
She glanced at the neatly lettered sign. A Night in a Gambling Hell.
“Something tells me we aren’t going to learn any more here than we did at the first two museums,” she said.
“You may be right.” Tobias looked closely at the face of the killer and shook his head slightly. “Mrs. Vaughn was obviously correct when she said that the majority of waxwork museums cater to the public’s desire for horrid thrills rather than a demand for fine art.”
Lavinia looked around at the ranks of bloodcurdling scenes that loomed in the shadows. Grave robbers, murderers, dying prostitutes, and violent criminals filled the vast chamber. The quality of the art might not be high, she thought, but the proprietor had certainly been successful in creating an atmosphere of dread. She was not about to admit it to Tobias, but the place was affecting her nerves.
“I fear we are wasting our time,” she said.
“No doubt.” Tobias moved on to the scene of a man strangling a woman with a scarf. “Nevertheless, as we are here and it is the last museum on our list, we may as well interview Huggett before we go.”
“Why bother?” Lavinia trailed after him. She grimaced at the tableau and glanced at the title, The Inheritance. “Tobias, I really think we should leave. Now.”
He gave her an odd look. It occurred to her that she had just addressed him by his given name for the first time. She felt herself grow unaccountably warm and was very grateful for low light.
It was not as if they had not shared some degree of intimacy, she thought. They were business associates, after all. And there was that kiss in her study yesterday, although she had tried very hard not to reflect upon the passionate interlude.
“What the devil is wrong with you?” Amusement dawned in Tobias’s eyes. “Never say that these exhibits are affecting your nerves. I would not have thought you the sort to succumb to dark imaginings in a waxwork museum, of all places.”
Outrage fortified her spirits as nothing else could have done. “My nerves are in excellent condition, thank you. I am certainly not the sort to be influenced by exhibits such as these.”
“No, of course you aren’t.”
“It’s just that I see no reason to stand about waiting for a rude proprietor who cannot make time to speak with two people who have paid good money to purchase tickets to his dreadful attraction.”
She came to the end of an aisle and saw a narrow spiral staircase leading up to another floor. “I wonder what Mr. Huggett keeps up there.”
A slithering sound in the darkness behind her froze her in her tracks. A low, sibilant voice spoke.
“The upstairs gallery is for gentlemen only.”
Lavinia whirled around, peering into the gloom.
In the weak, flaring light that illuminated a nearby murder scene, she made out a tall, skeletally thin man. The skin of his face was tightly stretched across the bones. His eyes were caverns. Any spark of warmth that might once have blazed there had long ago been extinguished.
“I am Huggett. I was told you wished to speak with me.”
“Mr. Huggett,” Tobias said. “I am March and this is Mrs. Lake. We appreciate your taking the time to speak to us.”
“What do you want from me?” Huggett rasped.
“We wish to ask your opinion of a certain waxwork,” Tobias said.
“We are trying to find the artist who produced this.” Lavinia held out the small scene of death and pulled aside the cloth. “We hoped you might recognize the style or some other aspect of the workmanship that might help us learn the name of the modeler.”
Huggett glanced at the picture. Lavinia watched his skull-like face carefully. She was almost certain that she saw a faint flicker of recognition, but it was gone in an instant. When Huggett looked up again, his face was devoid of expression.
“Excellent workmanship,” he rattled. “But I do not believe I recognize the artist.”
“The subject matter would seem to suit your museum,” Tobias said.
Huggett gestured with bony fingers. “As you can see, I display life-size statues, not small pictures.”
“If a name should occur to you after we leave today, please send word to me at this address.” Tobias handed Huggett a card. “I can assure you that it would be worth your while.”
Huggett hesitated and then accepted the card. “Who would be willing to pay for such information?”
“Someone who very much desires to make the acquaintance of the artist,” Tobias said.
“I see.” Huggett coiled in on himself, retreating into the darkness. “I shall give the matter some thought.”
Lavinia stepped forward. “Mr. Huggett, one more thing, if you don’t mind. You did not finish your explanation about your upstairs gallery. What sort of exhibits do you keep up there?”
“I told you, only gentlemen allowed upstairs,” Huggett whispered. “The exhibits up there are not suitable for ladies.”
He disappeared back into the shadows before she could ask any more questions.
Lavinia glanced at the spiral staircase. “What do you think he keeps up there?”
“I have a feeling that if you were to ascend those stairs,” Tobias said, taking her arm, “you would find an exhibit of naked waxworks engaged in erotic acts.”
She blinked. “Oh.” She glanced back at the spiral staircase one last time and then allowed Tobias to guide her toward the door.
“He knows something about our little waxwork,” she said softly. “I sensed some recognition in the way he responded to it.”
“You may be right.” Tobias escorted her through the door. “There was something odd about his reaction.”
She smiled with relief when they stepped out into the drizzle. The hackney in which they had arrived stood in the street.
“Thank goodness the coachman waited for us,” she said briskly. “I would not care to walk all the way home in the rain.”
“Nor would I.”
“This has been a very productive afternoon, has it not? I believe I told you that interviewing people familiar with the styles of various modelers in wax would be useful. Thanks to my approach, we have picked up the scent at last. It is time to sound the horns.”
“If you don’t mind, I would rather avoid the unnecessary use of the vocabulary of the hunting field.” Tobias opened the hackney door. “I find it tiresome.”
“Rubbish.” Lavinia gave him her hand and bounced exuberantly into the cab. “You’re in a foul mood because it was my brilliant notion that got us to this point in our inquiries. Admit it, sir. You are annoyed because none of your lures has drawn a nibble.”
“I do not care for fishing cant either.” He gripped the edge of the door and hauled himself into the vehicle. “If I am in an unpleasant temper today, it is because I do not like the fact that there are so many unanswered questions.”
“Cheer up, sir. Judging from the glint
in Huggett’s eyes, I suspect we will have news soon.”
Tobias contemplated the wooden sign above the door to Huggett’s Museum as the hackney pulled away. “That gleam you saw in his eyes might not have been an indication of his interest in our money.”
“What else could it have been?”
“Fear.”
ten
The leather binding was cracked and charred from the flames. Most of the pages were burned to a crisp. But there were enough bits and pieces left in the ashes to enable Tobias to determine beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was looking at the remains of the valet’s diary.
“Bloody hell.”
He stirred the ashes with a poker. They were cold. Whoever had burned the thing had allowed plenty of time for the embers to die before he had sent the message.
He glanced around the small chamber. It was obvious no one lived here on a permanent basis, but there was enough clutter about to indicate that the room was frequented by those who made their living on the streets. He wondered if the book had been burned elsewhere and then brought here to be dumped on the hearth.
He did not know who had sent the summons to him. He doubted it was one of his usual informants, because no one had come forward to claim the money he had offered for information.
Someone, however, had very much wanted him to discover the diary here tonight.
Luckily he had been at his club when the note had arrived a short while ago. He had set out immediately, devoutly grateful that the bad weather and the lateness of the hour had given him the excuses he needed not to send word to Lavinia. She would no doubt be annoyed when he woke her up to tell her what he had found, but she would have to accept that time had been of the essence.
He looked around for something he could use to collect the burned diary and saw an old empty sack stuffed into the corner.
It did not take long to scrape up the remains of the valet’s dangerous little journal.
When he was ready, he put out the smoky tallow candle he had found in the room. He picked up the sack and went to the window. There was no reason to expect any trouble. After all, someone had gone to a good deal of effort to ensure that he found the diary tonight. But others were searching for the journal. It was only prudent to take some precautions.